


Reality Check

by girl_next_door_writes



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_next_door_writes/pseuds/girl_next_door_writes
Summary: In a world where he can never be sure of his own mind, Arthur clings onto the only proof he has that you aren’t a figment of his own tortured imagination.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Kudos: 20





	Reality Check

It felt like an eternity since he had left his apartment that morning. So much had happened, and his mind and body were so weary that he wasn’t sure he even had the strength to return home. Smears of white face paint clung to his skin in odd corners, a physical reminder of his day spent attempting to make others smile. The biggest laughs he seemed to get were when he got hurt. Violence and his suffering always seemed to amuse others, were a crowd pleaser. He rubbed his arm where he was certain a fresh bruise was forming after a tumble on the street earlier in the day. He had been sprawled on the sidewalk, people stepping over him as they hurried on their way as if he was invisible. But that was his whole life, nobody ever really saw him. 

His heart ached. Life was so hard, and every turn seemed to be designed to make things even more difficult. Still, he never complained. After all, what would one more complaint do in the sea of despair that was Gotham? Better to put on a smile. Be a good boy. Be ‘happy’. That’s what everyone wanted from him, his mother, his co-workers, his doctors. He had begun to think this idea of happiness was all just a fantasy, that maybe nobody had ever achieved this mythical sense of being and they were all lying, just like him. 

A light drizzle had begun to fall, and Arthur pulled his hoodie around himself a little tighter, his hands slipping into his pockets as he fought against the chill. His fingers brushed against what felt like a strip of waxed paper and a warmth slowly made its way from his fingertips and up his arm, taking a direct route to his heart. His facial expression softened, and a smile pulled at his lips, the existence of that small piece of paper enough to ease the troubles of the day and the myth of happiness suddenly seemed almost tangible. It could get hard sometimes, but there was one thing that made him feel alive, made him feel solid and real. 

Closing his eyes, he was thankful that he had removed this small token from his notebook, where he usually kept it pressed tightly between the pages and placed it in his pocket. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted the change. Perhaps he had known somewhere deep in his soul that he would need to keep it close on the journey, a reminder of the light burning bright through the dark thoughts and guiding him back home. 

Jogging down the subway steps, he felt a lightness. It was as if the closer he got to reaching his destination the easier he could breathe, all the terrible things falling behind him into the past while he focused on his future. Was it possible for a soul to heal? He had spent so much of his life feeling cracked and broken, invisible and an inconvenience, could he ever really be fixed? These were questions which often invaded his thoughts, causing him to cling to the strip of paper in his pocket a little tighter. 

It wasn’t until he was on the train, hunched over in his seat, that he dared pull his hand from his pocket. The photo strip in his fingers was a little battered and he placed it on his thigh hurriedly. The palm of his hand pressing over it as he attempted to smooth it out. It had been stupid of him to take it from the safety of his notebook. Why had he risked damaging the one thing that proved this wasn’t something his twisted mind had created to torture him. 

There had been too many times in his life where he had been so certain of something, only to find his own mind had betrayed him. Things seemed so real. He remembered the way things felt, their taste, their smell, and yet those memories had proved false. But this… this was real. You were real, the photograph in his hands proved that. Whenever he began to doubt himself, doubt what you had together, he would take out these photographs, taken on a whim, and his panic would ebb away, replaced by a warmth and certainty. 

In the black and white images, you were forever frozen together. Your love right there for him to see. You had pulled him into the shabby photobooth one day as you had been walking past, laughter on your lips as you squished together in the small space. He could still feel the weight of you leaning your head on his shoulder, the first image capturing the moment as you looked into the camera and he looked down at you with a tender smile. The second photograph, you had shifted, looking up into his eyes with mischief dancing in your expression which resulted in the third photograph, which was Arthurs favourite. Your lips had captured his and the moment of surprise and elation were evident on his face as the final flash set off. This was his proof. You were real, you existed, and you had kissed him. The photographs showed that, the moment captured perfectly and every time he looked at them, he could feel the heat of your lips on his own, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

He knew it was dangerous placing his happiness in the hands of another person, but he couldn’t help but feel that things were easier with you in his life. Every piece of him had been broken, ground to dust over and over. He should feel overwhelmed and defeated but he didn’t. Knowing there was a very big chance the elevator would open and he would find you already waiting for him, leaning against the wall by the door, willing to help him with his mother and listen to him talk about his day, that made picking himself up each time and putting himself back together simpler somehow.

Arthurs pace picked up despite the cold and the now driving rain soaking him to the bone. The photographs, now firmly pressed between the pages of his notebook, had worked their magic and not even the passing car, which had deliberately driven through the puddle by the sidewalk, dousing him with ice cold water could peel the smile from his face. 

Emerging from the elevator, disheveled and drenched, his heart plummeted when the hallway was empty. The weight of the world crashed down onto him once again, his shoulders slumped and each step towards his front door was heavy with disappointment. He was so caught up in his despair that he didn’t hear the door of the stairwell open and it took him a few moments to register that you were walking towards him with an expression of concern. 

“Arthur? Jeez, did you swim home tonight?” The light teasing tone in your voice snapped him right back to the moment and his eyes widened a little. His mind raced as he tried to figure out if you were really there, or if his psyche had conjured you to ease his heartache. “Come on, lets get you inside and into something dry. I’ll fix you and your mom something warm to eat and then we can snuggle on the sofa and you can tell me all about your day.” You took his hand and it felt so real, he allowed himself to believe that it must be. Following you into his apartment, he couldn’t help but smile as he heard his mother greet you. You were definitely real. At least, you were today.


End file.
